


Saturday Nights

by orangesalamander



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Billy is just tryna be good for once, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gay Steve Harrington, I just want justice for the kids, I'll update tags as the pic progresses, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Sort Of, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Underage Drinking, potentially slow burn?? not sure yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesalamander/pseuds/orangesalamander
Summary: Saturday nights were for D&D. Saturday nights were for fun and games and pizza and jokes. Well, that's what Saturday nights used to be for.-Or, in which Steve Harrington is battling a cocaine addiction on top of an abusive relationship and Billy Hargrove becomes responsible for the Party.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	1. Saturday Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first ST fic as well as my first time publishing on Ao3- I'm open to suggestions and criticism. I'd like everyone to keep in mind that I have never dealt with addiction myself, however I've been around people who have. I'd also like to mention that I got this idea from @Sam_Haine's story "All My Sins Need Holy Water"- I liked the idea of including elements like drug addiction and domestic abuse in a pic as it's not entirely too common. I think this should go without saying from the tags, but this story does include drug use, implied non-con, and possible future scenes that may be graphic. If this is triggering to you I suggest finding another story as this may not be the one for you. That being said I do have plenty of suggestions that are much more mild! Anyways, enjoy!

_December 11, 1984_

Saturday nights were for D&D. Saturday nights were for fun and games and pizza and jokes. Well, that's what Saturday nights used to be for. Now, Steve Harrington spends his Saturday nights at home with Charley, holed up in his bedroom with the curtains drawn not knowing what hour of the day it is or how long he's been high for. Minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days after a few lines of coke. The feeling of euphoria is intense the first Saturday he skips D&D with the Party- the first snort of blow feels intense, but it's the happiest Steve's felt in months. His nose bleeds profusely, but he's so numb and worked up that he fails to notice, giddy on a high he can't seem to fight off. One Saturday leads to another and soon Steve hasn't seen the kids in weeks, favoring Charley over the group of children- preferring the unbounded feeling of happiness he gets after doing a line or two and kissing Charley for hours on end. That is, until Saturdays turn into Saturdays and Sundays. Until weekends turn into every other day and until every other day turns into a daily affair. Until Charley pushes their relationship further and further. Until Charley gets _violent_ and _pushy_. Until Saturdays aren't for D&D anymore.

It's December 11th, 1984, not that Steve would know, and it's not a Saturday, but rather a Tuesday morning. Everything is blurry as peels his eyes open, wiping at them profusely and blinking slowly. Charley's side of the bed is empty and cold, long since abandoned, and Steve groans loudly, stretching his limbs out over his head and wincing as his entire body begins to ache. He rolls over, taking in the sight of his room.

The air is stale and the room is shroud in darkness. Clothes and beer cans litter the floor, the remnants of dusty white powder trails line the desk. He rolls over, grimacing at the broken radio on the floor and looking at the blinking red alarm clock on his dresser. 7:05 AM: he could still make it in time for school if he tried. Steve sits up, looking down at his bruised, pale skin as he does so. Tiny, pale finger print shaped bruises litter his arms. Deep purple ones wrap around both of his wrists. His chest is speckled purple and green and he's positive his back must look the same. _Should learn not to fight back._

Steve sighs, standing up and wincing as pain shoots through his body. He can't shake the sticky, wet feeling between his thighs. The dull, screaming ache that runs deep through his body. He doesn't even remember Charley asking- not that he really does anymore. He just takes, takes, takes, _takes_ until Steve's left with nothing. Left _feeling_ like nothing. But a good high and some decent sex- that's all a guy could ask for, right?

Steve walks down the hall to the bathroom, not bothering to dress himself- he can't recall the last time his parents were home. The hot water stings his flesh relentlessly, digging into tiny cuts and scrapes along his back. He winces, lathering himself in soap and scrubbing at his skin until his entire body is red and stinging as he sobs, scouring over the same patches of raw flesh repeatedly. His hands run through his hair, untangling the knots and massaging shampoo into the greasy roots. _God, when was the last time he showered?_ He rinses the suds from his hair, adding a mound of conditioner to the strands and running his hands over his face. Steve pulls his hands away, scrunching his nose at the metallic smell that remains on his hands. He scrubs at his face, washing away the dried blood, likely from a nosebleed or two sometime over the course of the last.. day? _Days?_ It was hard to tell.

Steve turns the water off, grabbing a towel and stepping out feeling a little bit better than before. He wipes his hand over the mirror, rubbing away some of the condensation and taking a good look. It's gonna be hard to play this one off as illness. Or over-exhaustion. Or maybe just a bad weekend. He was running out of viable excuses. Nevertheless, he stumbles into his room, finding clothing that looked semi-presentable and searching throughout the room for his keys only to come up empty handed.

He lets out a frustrated shout, throwing the door open to search the lower level of the house. It was pointless: he already knows what had happened as he throws the front door open. "Fuck!" He screams, carding his hands through his hair. His car was gone- Charley must have taken it to.. _wherever_ he goes on a Tuesday morning. _Why did Charley always make Steve pick him up? He owns like 3 cars._

Steve groans, grabbing his backpack from inside and slamming the front door closed, opting to walk to school rather than stay in the desolate, dreary house another second. It's sleeting and cold, but Steve hardly notices as he walks in the general direction of the school. He's absolutely drenched after a car drives by, speeding through a sloshy puddle, and when he's finally just 4 streets away from his house, he gives up, throwing himself down onto the pavement and wrapping his arms around his knees.

It's hard to tell how much time goes by when a car pulls up beside him. He doesn't even drag his head up to look, just hopes it's someone who'll either leave or just have their way with him. Doesn't matter at this point. "Hey, Harrington!" He pulls his head up from his knees, forcing himself to look. "You want a ride or what?" Billy Hargrove is the last fucking person he wants or expects to see. "Fuck off, Hargrove," he mumbles, putting his head back down. He's shivering. "Alright let's go, get in," he says and Steve doesn't budge. The car door opens, but Steve's making not actively saying or doing anything. Strong arms pull Steve up from behind, forcing him to stand all wobbly and threatening to fall over. Still, he shoves Billy, then stumbles over his feet, crashing into Billy's side. "Nice going, moron," Billy mumbles, dragging him to the passenger side of the car, whipping the door open, and shoving him in.

"I thought I told you to fuck off," he mumbles, utterly defeated as Billy climbs in the driver's side. "Tough luck, Harrington," he replies, stepping on the gas, not uttering another word as they reach the school. He kills the engine, looking over at Steve. "Any day now, Harrington," he says, annoyance laced into his voice as Steve throws the door open, stalking off toward the school without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think so I can take it into account for the future! I want to update weekly and I already have the first THREE parts written!! :) I'm not 100% planning on alternating points of view, but the next chapter will be from Billy's perspective. I'll also continue to update tags as the fic progresses.
> 
> Check out my pin board for this fic! https://pin.it/5iHVP1T


	2. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D&D nights are not the same when Billy Hargrove is around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a disclaimer- for the sake of the plot line and the introduction of Charley I decided that Max and Billy arrived in Hawkins in the summer of 1984 rather than the fall :)

_December 15, 1984_

Billy didn't know what crawled up Steve Harrington's ass and died, but he was getting pretty fucking tired of it the past couple of weeks. He was getting _real_ fuckin' tired of babysitting _his_ brats too. Since when had it become his job to cart those damn kids around? Oh yeah, since Harrington had decided to fuck off and out of reality. So here he was, forced to chaperone their damn Dungeons & Dragons night for the umpteenth week in a row. 

It had all begun a couple weeks prior, some time in the beginning of November, when Maxine had begged him to come to Mike Wheelers house, babbling something about a game and how his parents weren't home. He told her a dozen times that he wasn't going to go, that he had a party to attend and that her tween-y issues were none of his concern. That is, until Neil had overheard the conversation and Billy was happy to oblige with Max's request. 

And the rest was history. Just about every week following Billy had accompanied the kids on Saturday nights for D&D, not that he had any interest in joining. The kids had continually tried to convince him to play along, even going as far as to come up with a character for him. _The Barbarian_ , they had said. He simply rolled his eyes, tucking himself back into his book without a second thought.

Now here they were, Saturday, December 15th, hidden away in Mike Wheeler's basement on Maple Street while Steve Harrington was out doing fuck all. It wasn't that Billy _minded_ hanging out the brats, the free entertainment was nice, but it wasn't exactly his job to be looking after them. Once or twice? Sure. Every god damn Saturday? _Not_ his idea of a good time. Especially when he knew they'd much rather be hanging out with _Steve_.

But that was the hard thing about all of this. Billy wasn't sure _he_ wanted them hanging out with Steve, not in his current state at least. In a little over a month and a half the kid had dropped at least 10 pounds, weight he really couldn't afford to be losing, and looked like he'd been run over by a garbage truck _twice_. In other words, he looked like shit.

At least half the school knew Steve Harrington was a fucking fruit, not that Billy had particularly cared. His botched attempt at a relationship with Nancy Wheeler made that clear to anyone with half a fucking brain. No one had a problem with it until Charley St. Louis came around. St. Louis was from out East, Lower Manhattan to be exact- always said something about moving here to be closer to his relatives. He was an attractive kid, real tall and muscular with mousy brown hair and sharp green eyes. And with Charley St Louis came _rumors_. Rumors of high end drugs andfancy cars and expensive alcohol- all the things a teenage boy in the middle of Indiana could ever dream of. And Steve Harrington ate up every little bit of it.

Billy and Max had arrived in Hawkins in June of that summer, so the new kid charm had already worn off by the time the fall semester came. Charley was all the rage at Hawkins High, every girl wanted him and every guy wanted to _be_ him. It was fairly obvious when Charley St. Louis began going with Steve Harrington, after all rumors did spread fast at Hawkins High. Things became even more blatantly obvious when Charley slinked around the halls, arm hanging low on Harrington's waist and dark bruises covering lining his neck. Most of the kids at Hawkins paid no mind- St. Louis was _not_ the kinda guy you wanted to mess with unless you meant business. Comments were kept to dull whispers, no one dared to mess with Charley and no one so much as batted an eye at Steve.

The two had been together for around 2 months to Billy's knowledge. And in those two months Steve was clearly in a downward spiral. Billy and Steve had never had a particularly good relationship, that being said it wasn't necessarily bad, but Billy had never found himself being interested in the many affairs of Steve Harrington until he had been forced to adopt 5 extra little shits after Steve had abandoned them. Now there would be hell to pay when Billy got his hands on that bastard- these kids counted on him and Billy was not gonna let them be disappointed any longer. They were just as much his kids now as they were Steve's- possibly even more so at this point.

"Do you think Steve's ever coming back around?" Dustin asks in a hushed voice, looking around the room at his fellow party members. They all converse quietly, talking about how much they missed him, how they'd all called him numerous times, how he never answered anymore. Listening to them stirred something deep down in Billy- hate? Anger? Annoyance? He couldn't tell. "Enough about Steve," he grumbles, nose still stuck in his book, but he'd been on the same page for 15 minutes now. Their voices lowered to poorly concealed whispers and Billy sighs, folding the page of the book and setting it down on the table to his left.

"Look, I get it, but Harrington is no good guys," he says, causing all of the kids to look up, wide-eyed and confused as to how he could have possibly heard their conversation. "What do you mean?" Dustin squawks, peering angrily at Billy and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I _mean_ that Steve isn't really the best influence for you guys right now," he responds, staring Dustin down. "Since when did you know anything about Steve?" Mike questions. And Billy just rolls his eyes. "I know a lot more about Harrington than any of you would like to," he responds. "Well we can't just keep hanging out with you forever can we?"

"Yeah I mean you're not that bad, but I don't wanna be besties with my brother," Max says, crossing her arms and staring at him sternly. "Hey," she starts, smirking at him. "Why don't you just like, become Steve's friend and then force him to start talking to us again?"

"That is the very last thing I want to do in any situation, Maxine," he says, a bored expression on his face. She sighs loudly and looks at the rest of the Party for suggestions. "Maybe you should become his friend and help him?" Will suggests. "Like he was good before, so what changed? Maybe he's having a hard time," he concludes, looking around the room for validation. It's probably the most logical thing any of the kids have said thus far, but he still doesn't bite. "I dunno," he says, not really saying yes or no.

"Well we've already tried calling him," Lucas says, deep in thought as an invisible light bulb goes off in Dustin's head. His eyes brighten and he gets all wide eyed. "What if we send him one of those cryptic letters? You know, the ones with the magazine clippings?" And the whole party groans, informing Dustin that that's the dumbest idea they've ever heard. "Worth a shot," he grumbles.

The kids go back and forth, debating on what they can do to get Steve back and coming up with theories as to why Steve had abandoned his motherly duties. It's quite amusing, really. Elaborate theories of mind control and aliens, some others about a secret relationship and clones. They're all seriously invested in the welfare of one Steven Harrington. Finally, Billy caves. "Look, I'm not making any promises, but I'll see what I can do," he says, giving a defeated sigh as all the brats cheer. He's not sure what he's gonna do, but for starters he's gonna have to get real close and comfy with Steve Harrington all while avoiding St. Louis. Or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Thanks for sticking around for chapter 2- I hope you're enjoying everything thus far!! :) I'm gonna try to stick to uploading every Sunday, so stick around for more updates!
> 
> Check out my pin board for this fic! https://pin.it/5iHVP1T


	3. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Harrington will do just about anything for a fix.

_December 15th, 1984_

Saturday night comes sooner than expected, not that Steve can properly account for what day it is. "Charley, Charley, baby please, I need you right now," he begs, his voice quivering as he speaks into the receiver of the phone. He's already drunk off his ass, but it's not enough anymore.

"Steve, it's 2 in the morning, you know that, right?" Charley hisses, voice rough and gritty sounding as he whispers into the receiver.

"Please, I'll do anything, I'll pay you double even, I just," he pauses, dragging his hand through his hair roughly. "I'm out and I really need something to hold me over please."

He sounds pathetic, sobbing into the receiver like a little bitch for a fucking line, a percocet, or something, anything to hold him over. The world feels louder at night when you're alone, left with your thoughts in a shitty, empty house filled with so many shitty memories. "Fine, but you better make this worth it, princess."

And he does. Steve's left alone in his room, shaking as he opens the little baggie, tapping some of that addictive white powder out onto his desk and doing a full line. He sighs, resting his head on the desk. The stinging sensation is strong as the blood slowly drips out his right nostril and onto the desk, but he hardly notices. Just half a gram had cost him almost $200 and what very little remained of his dignity. The clock reads 3:48 when he finally collapses onto his bed, grinning at the ceiling because finally he feels something, even if it's fleeting as the minutes go by.

He lets his head loll over to one side, relaxing into the mattress and tugging the covers around himself. Tomorrow's a new day- a better day at that.

Except when you manage to sleep through the entire day. The phone is ringing non-stop when Steve finally comes to again, awaking groggily with a headache. He reaches for the phone blindly, fumbling with it as he brings it to his ear.

"Harrington residence," he mumbles, eyes heavily lidded and threatening to shut once again. "Steve finally," the voice squawks, far too energetic for.. he rolls over, looking at the clock: 9:06 in the morning. "I've been trying to reach you for weeks."

"Dustin?" He questions, groaning and wishing he had let the phone continue to ring. "Man, did you just wake up? You are so lucky we have a snow day today," he grumbles and Steve hums in response, gripping the phone cord tightly. Dustin's rambling on about something, but Steve isn't listening as he screws his eyes shut and yanks the landline from the wall. It hurts more than he had anticipated, but he can't handle talking to him or any of the other kids in the state he's in. It wouldn't be fair. He reaches for the baggie on the nightstand, swiping his pinky in and rubbing a bit of white powder on the inside of his left nostril- just something to hold him over. After all, every day's just about getting by now. 

He sighs, looking around and taking in his surroundings, grimacing at the state of his room and quite frankly the state of his life. _How could he let it get this far? When was the last time he_ saw _the kids?_ His hands shake as he reaches over for the phone line, plugging it back in and picking up the phone, listening to the hum of the dial tone as he carefully types out Dustin's number. The line instantly goes dead once, twice, a third time until finally, the fourth time around, someone picks up the phone, but doesn't say anything.

"Dustin? Hey, buddy, it's, it's me, it's Steve," he says, tipping his head back and resting it on the wall. "Listen," he starts, screwing his face as tears prick in his eyes, "I know I've been a bit, uh, MIA, for a little while, but-"

"A while, Steve?" Dustin shouts, his voice sounding pained as the words flow out, "you've been out of it for like, two months with not so much as a _word_ to us and you call that a 'little while'?"

His voice is cracking and it almost sounds like he's about to cry, or maybe he already is, Steve can't tell. "Look I-"

"I don't wanna hear it, Steve," he continues, sniffling as he goes, "if you really give a shit you'll come see us after school tomorrow."

Steve's head is swirling as he starts speaking again. "Dustin, I don't know-"

"Tomorrow, Steve. AV club ends at 3:30." And with that the line goes dead, leaving Steve alone in his big empty house wondering where the fuck he went wrong.

Nothing feels wrong the next day at school when he's all caught up in Charley's arms in the boy's bathroom during his lunch period. All pressed up against the walls and whining like a whore as Charley slips a pill into his left back pocket, kissing him roughly on the lips as he shoves him into the wall. He reaches his hands up, dragging it through Steve's hair and pulling roughly as he forces his knee between Steve's thighs and runs his tongue along the seam of his lips. Charley's rough, but Steve could care less as long as it gets him a fix.

Charley leaves him alone, gasping on his knees, sweating with hair sticking to his face as he retrieves the pill from his pocket. He's not sure what it is, but he takes it anyway, dry swallowing it as he picks up his backpack and makes his way to the parking lot. He slumps against the brick wall, pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and fumbling with his lighter.

"Harrington, 's been a while, huh."

"Few days isn't exactly a while, Hargrove," he mumbles, rolling his eyes at the blonde's annoying comment. Billy huffs, leaning up against the wall next to him. "Listen, Harrington, I'm gonna cut to the chase. You're gonna go see those goddamn kids after school today and I swear if you dip out on them-"

"How is this _any_ of your fucking business, Hargrove?"

"This became _my_ business when you decided to ditch the fucking brats and _I_ had to take you fucking place, shithead, so listen closely," he growls leaning in closely to try and intimidate him. It works. "You're going to go see them after their stupid club, you're going to apologize, and you're going to sort your _shit_ out for them."

Steve just nods, eyes wide. He flinches as Billy's hand slams down on the wall next to him. Billy's reaction is subtle, but Steve notices his eyes widen a bit. "Just- just be there alright?"

Steve shows up after school. The kids all shout and hug him, screaming about how much they missed him, but it's like he can't hear anything at all and God, he's so nauseous it hurts. _What did Charley give him?_ "Harrington?" Whoever it is feels far away. "Hey, Harrington!" Billy raises his voice, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. "You there, space boy? Seems you're a little far off from the rest of us," he snorts, taking a drag off his cigarette. The kids are standing a little ways off in the distance- he hadn't even noticed that they'd left.

"Yeah," he replies shakily. "Yeah, sorry I was just," he pauses, thinking of a believable excuse. "I was zoning out a bit. Haven't been sleeping well lately." _Or something like that._

Billy just nods a little bit, looking a bit suspicious, but he doesn't say anything about it. The kids turn back to them, begging to go to the arcade and Steve can't help but say yes, even if he knows he probably shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Sorry for the late update, I had to work today :) ALSO: you should totally check out my most recent fic Pretty Boys Like You ;) I have 8 chapters prewritten and will be updating every Saturday- the chapters are also longer than the ones on this story for some reason? Not sure why. Anyways, hope everyone's doing well and as always, I appreciate your feedback and kudos!!
> 
> Check out my pin board for this fic! https://pin.it/5iHVP1T


	4. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Harrington makes a big, dumb mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!! I made a Pinterest board for this book before I had even started writing it and I'm super proud of it, so I made a second, private account just to post it on!! Please check it out I love it so much :0 Anyways, hope you're enjoying and all is well!:)
> 
> Check out my pin board for this fic! https://pin.it/5iHVP1T

_December 18th, 1984_

The arcade is loud and fast and Steve's coming down from his high by the time the group arrive. He had shared a few short words with the kids before they had darted inside, all taking their respective machines and parting ways. Nothing feels real and time is moving slowly as he takes a shaky step inside and slides into a booth. "You gonna make it, Harrington?" Billy says, looking down at him. He just nods back, words failing to form. It feels like they're stuck in the back of his throat, idling there for a better time. "You want something to eat? You don't look so hot." The mere thought of food makes him want to hurl, so he shakes his head in response. "Not talkin', ay?"

"Look, Hargrove, could you- could just fuck off?" He says, startled by the hostility in his own voice. He's starting to feel dizzy and anxious as all hell. It feels like the entire room full of people is staring at him silently losing his shit in the corner. "I- I can't do this right now, I should go," he says hesitantly, shaking a little as he stands up. "Oh hell no, you are not getting out of this so easily, Harrington, we had a deal."

"And I saw the deal through! You didn't say I had to fucking stay alright? I'm my own goddamn person, Hargrove," he replies back, blinking at the harsh lights around him. Billy grabs him by the sleeve and shoves him out the front doors. The kids are peeking through the window, trying to get a good look without seemingly too glaringly obvious.

Steve's back is pressed up against the cold brick exterior of the building as Billy leans in. "I don't know what the _fuck_ has gotten into you lately, Harrington, but it's nothing fucking good," he spits, a fistful of his shirt clutched in his hand. "You need to sort yourself the hell out and think about what the fuck you're doing," he finishes, shoving him harshly and dragging the door open, strutting over to meet the kids, who are pretending to be engrossed in a game of Dig Dug. Steve sighs shakily, digging in his pockets for his keys and looking around to find out where he had parked his car.

The drive to Charley's place is longer than he anticipates- it feels like hours go by as he drives down the windy, backroads to Loch Nora. Charley's house is one of the last in the neighborhood, but it's also one of the biggest. The 6 car garage is garish and excessive, but compared to the house, it's nothing. The house is absolutely massive- a 6 bedroom, 5 bath house is incredibly impressive in most towns, but in a town like Hawkins it's almost _God-like._

Steve stumbles as he gets out, tripping up the large staircase as he goes to ring the doorbell. _Once, twice, three times._ No one answers. He kicks the door, cursing at himself, Charley, and, quite frankly, the entire world as he makes his way back to the beamer. He drives around town with the windows down, the cold December air stinging his cheeks and burning his lungs as he drives around to the second best spot to waste a couple of hours.

Hawkins has always been a quiet, sleepy town with quiet, sleepy people who keep to themselves, minding their own business and going about their days, but if you looked closely you'd find little quirks and differences you weren't expecting. How the lawns on some homes grew in all patchy or the abandoned buildings on the edge of town. Hawkins seems like the perfect quaint, small town until you take a magnifying glass to it. And that's exactly why Steve Harrington loves it. It's easy to live in the shadows here, easy to hide away and be seen only as what you want.

He sighs as he pulls up a short, cracked driveway, finally feeling like he can breathe just a little bit again. _Winifred_ _Memorial_ _High_ _School_. Overgrown trees and strings of ivy cover most of the exterior of the building- it's the old high school, long since abandoned after Hawkins High was built a decade or two ago. The crumbling brick walls and decaying, rotted out floors may seem unappealing to some, but it's the perfect getaway for boys like Steve Harrington who've become out of touch with the world, desperately grasping for a drop of normalcy, but nothing too close. No, nothing so close to anyone else, anyone he can hurt that is.

The door creaks on rusty hinges and slams behind him, shaking the brittle walls as it does. The boarded up windows let in small slivers of evening sunlight to allow him to see just the right amount. Steve makes his way up to the second floor carefully, being sure to avoid loose steps and bowing boards as he does so. The room, quite possibly an old classroom, is cold and damp and the window is still cracked open from the last time he was here, but it feels safe and almost comforting. This is the best room in the entire building- it's got this huge, beautiful window with one of those little benches built into it and the sunset looks incredible as it peaks above the trees and power lines. The walls are cracked and dirty, covered in various vulgar phrases and meaningless scribbles, but Steve doesn't even seem to notice anymore. 

His memory is finally coming back to him as the withdrawal symptoms from whatever the hell Charley gave him begin to wear off and he heaves a big sigh of relief as he realizes it. Each and every time this happens he tells himself it won't happen again- that he won't take some mystery drug, that one day he'll be clean enough to simply say _no_. And each and every day the cycle continues, Steve takes the drugs, and he _always_ says yes.

The sun is almost completely set when he pulls himself from his thoughts, bringing himself back to the reality of the situation he's in. The situation in which one Billy Hargrove is on his back and 6 tiny children continually call his home expecting answers that he can't bring himself to give. It's almost as if the universe is _trying_ to set him up for failure all the time. He reaches into his pocket, digging around for the tiny plastic bag he knew was hiding _somewhere_ in there, but comes up empty handed, swearing as he does so. He shakes his head, cursing at himself for the fogginess of his memory and lack of coordination just hours before. That damned bag could've ended up anywhere and he is _royally_ fucked if it ends up in the wrong hands. 

______________

The arcade is bustling and the kids seem like they hadn't seen anything as Billy reenters the building, trying to shake the strange experience he had just had with Harrington. Sure, Harrington seemed a bit off at the best of times, but _today?_ The kid was downright paranoid and clearly on edge the _entire_ time. Billy shakes his head, wandering over to the kids, finding them only half interested in a game of Dig Dug. He rolls his eyes, walking back over to the table he and Harrington had previously been sitting at together and begins thumbing through a random magazine on the table. 

His mind drifts back to Steve, thinking about his interactions with the kids earlier in the day. He recalls Dustin saying Steve had answered his call, startled and very out of it and then had ended it very abruptly. His interactions with them today were even stranger- curt, short sentences paired almost mechanical movements made the experience uncomfortable and almost unbearable. Billy shakes his head, flipping a page of the magazine and looking at a particularly interesting image at the bottom of the page. The light catches on an object on the floor and he almost ignores it- almost thinks it's some sort of wrapper or useless piece of garbage until he _really_ looks. He leans down, picking up the tiny bag between two fingers, examining it quickly under the table before tucking it into the front pocket of his jeans. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OoOh two points of view in one chapter:000 kinda wild :00


	5. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy Hargrove knows a dirty little secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Sorry for updating so late at night- it was a busy day! Next week's update may come out late, possibly by a day or so since I've got things for graduation this week. Hope everyone's doing well- thanks for the continued support!:)

_December 19, 1984_

Steve Harrington knew he was in deep shit as he left Hawkins High on Wednesday afternoon. Well, he knew as soon as he walked out of the parking lot that is. Billy Hargrove's stupid blue Camaro is parked right next to his usual spot, just as it was this morning. Steve, as per usual, showed up late this morning, just having missed the other boy. Billy's leaned up against his car, cigarette slipped between his lips and _glaring_. Steve rolls his eyes, pulling his keys out of his left pocket and moving to unlock the car. Once he's in, he turns around and throws his bag into the back. The sound of a hand slamming onto the closed driver's side window startled him, causing him to jump and turn toward Billy.

"You better get your ass out here, Harrington, before I _drag_ you out."

He's willing to bet Billy will act on that threat. Without hesitation he slides out of the vehicle, gulping and pressing himself into the door once it's closed. Billy crowds into him, so close the scent of his cologne is almost overpowering. _Lavender?_ Billy grits his teeth, glaring down at Steve.

"Get in the fucking car, Harrington."

"I have to-"

"Get. In."

Saying no isn't an option unless Steve has a death wish and, on this particular day, he's not feeling it. His eyes shift over to Charley's cherry red 84' Ferrari 288 parked just a few spots away, somehow still glowing in the overcast weather. Steve's never gonna hear the end of it later- he knows Charley's sitting in the car, probably waiting for him to saunter his dumb ass over. This? Not gonna fly. He'll be dead by the morning.

Billy backs up, snapping Steve out of his daze and allowing him to step into the Camaro. Billy rounds the side, whipping the door open, slamming it closed, and peeling out of the parking lot swiftly.

The air is dry and thick with tension. The car is filled with utter silence- neither of them have said a word. Steve's mind is blank as Billy speeds through downtown Hawkins. It's like TV static buzzing in his head, not a single clear thought is able to bring itself forward. He's sweating profusely and his knee is bouncing- _up, down, up, down, up-_

"Can you cut the shit, Harrington?"

"Where are we going?"

"I don't think you have the right to ask that right now."

The statement is ominous, almost threatening in a strange way considering Steve's not sure what he's done this time. It's always _something_ , isn't it? Makes a wrong move in the hallways, accidentally door-checks someone, you name it, chances are Steve's done it. And it's not like it's on purpose- he _tries_ to be a good guy despite the hard drugs and low status social life, but sometimes it seems as though he's constantly being set up for failure. Someone trips him on purpose, he knocks into someone; the car next to him is parked to close, he hits their door with his; you know, that sort of miserable, totally coincidental, day-ruining type of thing. No, nothing ever seems to go well for Steve Harrington and it sure as hell isn't going to right now. 

Billy pulls into an empty parking lot. The pavement's all cracked and broken, weeds littering the broken tar. The lines are faded to almost nothing and the building before them seems to show why. It looks like it used to be some sort of convenience store, but it's hard to tell now. The red painted sign on the front is worn and weathered so badly that the words are illegible. The windows of the building are smashed in and graffitied- no one is going to be able to find them out here. He pulls in calmly, shifting the car into park and almost _gently_ killing the engine. The silence is thick, worsened now by the lack of sound from the car's loud engine. 

Billy tilts his head back, allowing it to rest on the headrest behind him and looks up at the ceiling. Steve stares, breath beginning to quicken. He could _kill_ him out here and nobody would ever know. Maybe nobody would _care_ to know. Billy's hand reaches down for his left front pocket and Steve gulps- this is it. But Billy comes up not with a knife, not with a gun, but with a tiny, shimmering little plastic bag, now empty of the contents it held. Steve's breath hitches. 

"That isn't-"

"Save it, Harrington. You can't get yourself out of this one."

"Where did-"

"Flushed, Harrington. I flushed all of it," he says, turning to face him, gliding his tongue over his teeth. "What, you think I'm some sort of cokehead too?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "No, I'm afraid that's just you."

"Look, I'm not- it's not like that, okay?"

"Oh yeah, Harrington? Wanna tell me what it's _actually_ like then? Because I've got a few really good fucking ideas that suggest you're a lying piece of shit."

Steve's breathing heavily, staring straight ahead out the windshield of the car. It's true, he _is_ lying, but not at the same time not exactly. It's complicated. 

"Listen man, I- I can't get into this it's," he pauses, shaking his head. "It's not my place." Billy laughs. 

"Not your fucking place? Pretty sure it is, Harrington, you're the one with a nose full of fucking coke."

Steve doesn't have any words for that. He's got no good responses. If the truth gets out, he's fucked. If he lies, he's fucked. There are no good outcomes in a situation like this. He can't get out of this as easy as he would have liked. 

"I don't give a _fuck_ about what you do because, quite frankly, I don't give a fuck _about_ you, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you do this around those goddamned kids, you hear? One week, Harrington, one week to get it together. _One week_ to sort your shit out, or I'm going to the fucking chief."

"No, _Billy_ , you don't un-"

"Oh I hear you loud and clear! I understand that you're a _junkie_ who'd rather spend the day getting fucked up than dealing with your own shit."

"You don't know what it's like," Steve hisses, turning to face him finally. Tears prick at his eyes and he's desperately trying to blink them away as he begins to speak again. "I didn't- I never _meant_ to hurt them. I never meant to hurt _anybody_. I don't _want_ to hurt anybody, but sometimes you don't get a choice do you, Hargrove?"

Billy's eyebrows furrow as he looks at Steve, trying to read his face, his emotions. Trying to figure out the story. But boys like Steve Harrington keep things like this hidden from boys like Billy Hargrove. It's just better for everybody that way, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my pin board for this fic! https://pin.it/5iHVP1T


	6. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charley St. Louis makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! Thanks for sticking around this long :) This chapter's got some particularly sensitive material- I don't like getting intensely graphic, but there's clearly some very (clearly) rapey/possessive/manipulative shit going on, so be cautious :)))
> 
> Oh also I changed Charley's last name from Lewis to St. Louis because I feel like it really gives him that 'rich boy that doesn't care about your feelings' vibe

_December 22, 1984_

Charley St. Louis came to Hawkins in the fall of '84 like the calm before the storm- like a dormant volcano ready to erupt at any second, as if any sudden movement could set him off. St. Louis came from money, from power and a blood line rich and full of narcissistic men who get what they want when they want it. Had he been raised by any other family, perhaps he would have turned out a different way. Humble, kind even- he has a lot going for him after all. Attractive, good money, friendly smile, but bad, bad habits and a mind filled with cyanide and bad ideas.

But that _smile_ , that goddamned smile made Steve Harrington's heart _melt_ the minute they met. Charley St. Louis had spoken with soft, well fabricated words that made Steve swoon each and every time they spoke. They had gotten together quite early in their friendship and it was the best Steve had felt in years. Endless company, ice cream dates, evenings spent on the Harrington's expensive white sofa- all was well until the first night that Steve Harrington experimented with a drug far more potent than weed. Truth be told, he had never _wanted_ to try the sickly, white powder Charley had offered him- cocaine was hard to find in a small town like Hawkins, he'd never seen anything like it before.

______________

 _"Come on, Stevie, it's_ good _shit I promise."_

_"I dunno, Charley, I just-"_

_"What," he scoffed, "Do you not_ trust _me?"_

_"No, no, it's not that, I just-"_

_"Come on, don't be a pussy about it then."_

_Steve gulped, staring down at the tiny lines of fine, white powder expertly divided on his desk. The room was dark, the curtains were pulled tightly shut, and the air felt thick as he breathed in shallowly. He was shaking like a leaf, an uneasy look plastered on his face. Charley flashed a warm, kind smile, thrusting the rolled up hundred into his hand._

_"Just one line, baby, for me," he purred into his ear, so close that Steve could feel the ghost of a breath on the shell of his ear. He nodded back._

_"Just one won't hurt, right?" Charlie hummed._

_"Just one won't hurt."_

_Steve nodded, lowering his head down and quickly sniffing the shortest line. He gasped as he came up, head spinning immediately, but nothing unusual._

_"I don't feel any different."_

_"Give it a minute, baby," Charley said, sniffing a line for himself and leaning back against the sofa._

_Moments later Steve smiled brightly, far more brightly than before, eyes widening as he throws his head back toward the ceiling, slowly lolling to the side to look at his boyfriend._

_"Holy shit." Charley nodded back._

_"That's my baby," Charley smiled, titling his head at the younger boy. Steve eyebrows as he stared back. Charley brought his thumb up, brushing at the steady of stream of blood pouring from his right nostril._

_Steve just laughed and laughed, throwing his head back again, allowing the blood to run down his lips, dribbling down to his chin, not a care in the world._

______________

Steve shudders at the memory. That first time had been terrifying, yet exhilarating. Had he known what he does now maybe he would've tried harder to get out of it. But cocaine is one hell of a drug- one taste and you're hooked. 

This Saturday night rolls around and Steve Harrington is left with a decision to make- ignore Charley's phone calls for the second night in a row, or head over to the Wheeler's for D&D. He flinches as the sharp ringing of the phone ringing across the room- he knows it's Charley. He takes a deep shaky breath as he walks over, picking it up and clutching the receiver tightly in his right hand. 

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"Home."

"You sure about that one, Stevie?" Charley purrs, his tone seething and just a notch below angry.

"Yes, baby, I'm sure."

"So you're ignoring me?"

"N-no, baby, I've been busy, I promise." Charley scoffs. 

"What, doing school work?" He laughs. " _Please_ , we both know you're failing." Steve gulps. "You have fun hanging out with Hargrove on Wednesday?" 

"No, it's not like that, we- we have a project together." Steve cringes- there's no way Hargrove would be his partner, not even by force. 

"Oh yeah?" Charley chuckles. "What period?" Steve's eyes widen. 

"Uh, fourth? Yeah, fourth." Charley hums in response. 

"Funny thing that is, huh? How is it that you've got a project with Hargrove in your fourth period _gym_ class when he's in _my_ fourth period _math_ class?" Steve breathes in shakily. 

"Did I say fourth? I mean't fifth. Silly me," he lets out a forced laugh. "Always mixing up my words, you know?" Charley hums again, going silent for a few moments. 

"See you in 15, Stevie."

______________

Charley makes his appearance as promised, showing up on Steve's front porch and using the key hidden under the doormat to let himself in. Steve's in bed, sprawled out and staring at the ceiling as Charley walks over, straddling his hips and leaning down, breath kissing his ear like that first night all over again. 

"Haven't seen you all week, baby," he whispers, pressing his lips to Steve's neck leaving sloppy, open mouthed kisses down to his collar bones. He nips roughly at the soft, exposed skin as Steve groans beneath him. 

"Babe, _please,_ no, not right now."

Charley's fingers rake down over his hips, toying with the lacy trim of his underwear. He digs his fingers into his hips, pressing roughly into the deep pits of his hip bones on either side. Steve winces as Charley looks up at him, eyes dark and lustful. 

"Stevie, _please_ , for me?" He says, smirking down at him and god he _wants_ to say yes, but can't bring himself to- can't let himself be manipulated by that fucking smile anymore. 

"No, I just, I can't right now." Charley rolls his eyes, running his hand over the front of Steve's underwear, palming at him roughly. He licks his lips, looking up at him once again. 

"You sure about that, princess?"

Steve closes his eyes tightly, willing everything he has to tell his body to _stop_ \- he _doesn't_ want this, he knows he doesn't, but can't help his reaction. He nods frantically. " _Please_ ," he begs, "please don't," he says weakly. Charley shakes his head. 

"You never were good at listening, were you?" 

______________

Steve arrives at school Monday morning with fresh bruises lining his arms, dominating marks covering his neck. 

_You're mine._

He shudders, blinking back the tears that well in his eyes. Tommy Hagan whistles as he walks by. "Looks like someone had a good time this weekend, huh, Harrington?" _Anything but_. He nods back, shifting his eyes to the ground and heading straight for his locker. He can feel Billy's eyes follow his every move, Tommy's no longer paying attention- he's moved on to groping Carol like he's trying to get it on right in a Hawkins High hallway. 

Steve and Billy lock eyes for a second- just a second- before Steve turns the opposite direction, pulling the cardigan he's wearing tighter to his body, and heading to his first period. 

_You'll always be mine._


	7. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Harrington finds himself in yet another predicament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here it is- chapter 7!! This update is a bit late, but I hope its been worth it;)

_December 24, 1984_

Christmas Eve, 1984- the last day of school before Hawkins schools let out for Christmas break. It's a half day and everyone is antsy and ready to head home to their families. All except for Billy Hargrove. Christmas in the Hargrove household isn't exactly something one would enjoy, but rather an awkward, tense event filled with forced smiles and slightly burned family dinners. Christmas was less of a celebration and more of a pre-schedule, reoccurring nightmare.

It's around 11 o'clock on the 24th and Billy is outside, leaning up against the Camaro, smoking a cigarette as the snow falls in tiny puffs around him. It's quiet and relaxing- a moment of the peace before the hell ensues. That is until some fucking _heathens_ start bickering.

"Where the _fuck_ were you on Wednesday?"

"I told you, I went home early, I didn't feel good! I promise, please baby."

"I'm so sick of you fucking lying to me!"

_Smack._

_Thud_. 

The crack against the brick wall is startling, but distinct. Billy drops his cigarette at the first sound of a punch being thrown. The loud thud as someone falls to the ground has him running toward the two voices. One of the voices is still shouting as he nears closer, the other has gone silent. 

"You're fucking lying to me, Steve, I know you were with someone!"

Fucking Harrington. 

He's laying on the ground, arms clutching his chest and knees drawn tightly to his body. There's a few drops of blood pooling on the pavement and matting in his hair from a small gash on the back of his head, but it doesn't look particularly serious. He's shaking either from outright fear or the lack of a coat, it's hard to tell which- or maybe it's a bit of both. 

"Get the _fuck_ out of here, Hargrove, this doesn't involve you," Charley spits, glaring at Billy through piercing, dark eyes. Billy laughs, deep and intimidating as he rolls his eyes at him. 

"You're right, it _didn't_ involve me until _your_ dumb ass interrupted my smoke break."

He doesn't give Charley a chance to respond as he takes a swing, hitting the taller boy swiftly on the jaw. It throws Charley off guard entirely. He stumbles back, blinking heavily in shock as he struggles to regain his balance. 

"You're fucking _dead_ ," he snarls, finally gaining his footing once again. Billy laughs as Charley throws a weak punch and he dodges it easily. The taller boy is far too slow. 

"In your dreams, St. Louis."

Billy lands another one just under his left eye, taking him down to the ground with a knee to the nuts and a third punch that lands on his mouth. Charley groans, throwing his head back and raising his hand to wipe at the blood dribbling from his split lip. Steve is staring wide eyed as Billy finally turns around. His back is pressed firmly against the wall and his chest is heaving as he takes rapid breaths and he'd started crying at some point during the entire ordeal. 

As Billy walks over, Steve shrinks away, wrapping himself even tighter in his arms. Billy holds a hand out, turning around to look at Charley as he does so. He doesn't say a word, just stares at the two boys looking bewildered and defeated beyond belief. Steve is hesitant, as if one wrong move, even so much as a wrong look or a loud noise, would scare him off like a deer in the woods, but he eventually takes Billy's hand, hanging on tightly as he pulls himself up. He's shaking like a leaf and his palms are insanely sweaty in Billy's grasp, but he chooses not to say anything. Instead, he takes off his jacket and hands it over to him silently and begins to walk over to his car. 

Steve hastily tugs the jacket on, trailing behind Billy like a puppy. His shoulders are hunched and he's still shaking, but as they draw nearer to the Camaro he finally begins to calm down. Steve gets into his respective side of the car as Billy turns over the engine and cranks the heat up.

The drive to Steve's house is quiet, but not unbearable. The radio's playing in the background and Billy's humming along quietly and it all just feels a bit too _domestic_ for Steve as he sits plastered to the passenger seat wearing the jacket of a boy that _isn't_ his boyfriend. The car is warm and comforting and for the first time in a while Steve feels _safe_. His eyes begin to drift close and soon he's leaning against the window, face tucked into Billy's denim jacket, fast asleep as Billy speeds through Hawkins. 

Steve hasn't spoken once on the drive to his house and Billy's beginning to wonder if he's dead until he looks over and finds the older boy pressed up against the window, fast asleep and drooling a little bit. He feels himself smiling as he turns back toward the road, taking a left onto the road that the Harrington's live on, and pulling into the driveway a few houses down. Billy rests a hand on Steve's shoulder, gently shaking in hopes of waking him up. 

"Harrington, come on, man," he says, shaking his shoulder a third time, but Steve won't budge. Billy sighs, turning off the car, and walking over to the front door. He rings the door bell once, twice, and a third final time, but no one answers. He tries opening the door, but it's locked. _Harrington's always gotta make shit difficult_. 

He starts searching for a key to the house because rich people hide their keys too, right? He first checks under an old flower pot, the door mat, and finally under a rock by front door, snatching the key up, and opening the front door. By the time he gets back over to the Camaro, Steve has managed to curl in on himself even more. Billy opens the door carefully and tucks one arm around Steve's legs and another behind him back, lifting him up with ease. He's even lighter than Billy had anticipated, couldn't be more than like 130 pounds, and lays limp in his arms like a rag doll. Getting him into the house and upstairs is a lot easier than he had expected- it's almost as though he's carrying a taller, lankier version of Max 

When he finally finds Steve's room he sets him down, tugging up the blanket that's been pushed down to the end of the bed, and heads back to the door as quickly as he came. Before he goes he turns back to look at Steve one last time. He's curled up tightly once again, hair splayed out wildly on the pillow, but it's the first time in months Billy's seen Steve look calm. He shakes his head, closing the door softly behind him. 

"Get your shit together, Harrington," he mumbles, walking down the staircase to the front door and back out into the December chill. 


	8. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day is off to a rough start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for sticking through the unexpected week off! I'm going to stick to the biweekly upload schedule, so you'll be hearing from me again some time around July 19th! Working full time and worrying about school has been kicking my ass I'm not gonna lie- hopefully you enjoy this one!! :)

_December 25, 1984_

It's Christmas Day and the last place Billy Hargrove would like to be is home. Maxine has been less of a whiny brat than usual, however the tension in the household is at an all time high. As anticipated, the family seems rather joyous to anyone on the outside, but the house is filled with forced smiles and staticky Christmas music playing over the radio sat on the kitchen counter. The Hargrove family isn't particularly well off, but Max received a new record player, some new vinyls, and a couple of random things she had asked for- and all Billy got was a new cassette, one of which he already owned, for the Camaro and a hasty "Merry Christmas".

It's around 5pm when Susan announces that dinner is ready. Max and Billy have already set the table and Neil is already seated at the very top, watching them all with sharp, disapproving eyes. As Susan begins to lay the food out on the table, Max and Billy sit in their respective seats, Billy on the right of Neil and Maxine seated to the left. Susan lays down the last bowl and sits herself at the end of the table across from Neil. The air is swimming with tension as the four of them sit in silence, carefully putting scoops of mashed potatoes and slices of ham onto their plates. Neils clears his throat, muttering a hastily done prayer and begins eating. Only moments later Neil sighs, slamming his fist down on the table.

"Every _fucking_ year, Susan," he says, voice sounding sharp and angry. "How do you manage to burn something every fucking _year_?"

By now he's shouting, pushing himself away from the table and throwing his plate across the room, sending it flying and shattering it into tiny porcelain pieces laying on the tile.

"Neil, please, I can make it up to you, I promise!" Susan is standing now too, rushing over to Neil's side and resting her hand on his arm gingerly. He shoves her to the side and into a counter harshly, causing her to wince and cower down.

Neil screaming, the terrified look on Susan's face, the way Max shrinks down into her seat- it gives Billy a flashback to his childhood. He's maybe 5 or 6- they're in California in some shitty apartment by the coast. His mom sits next to him at the dining table, she's reading a book and he's nestled into a Wonder Woman comic as dinner cooks in the kitchen next to them. The front door slams open and Neil storms in, throwing his car keys on the kitchen counter. Billy flinches, pulling his comic closer in toward him. The words are a hazy memory, but the feeling is there. The sound of Neil's voice echoing through the tiny apartment, the way his mother flinched as Neil raised his hand to her, the feeling of being small and unable to speak up. 

Billy pushes his chair back, standing up and walking closer to Neil. He's not a little kid anymore- it's his turn to speak up. 

"It's always fucking something with you, isn't it?" Neil stiffens at the remark. "Every single goddamn day it's something- something's burned, the laundry isn't done, dinner isn't done on time. Is anything ever fucking enough for you?"

"Boy, you really _don't_ want to get into this right now," he replies, taking a step closer so the two are face to face. Neil is a tall, decently built man- he's got a few inches on Billy, but that doesn't scare him anymore. He leans forward, pressing a finger into the center of Neil's chest. 

"Maybe I _do_." Max pleads in the background, begging Billy to drop it and Susan is silent, eyes wide and leaning up against the dining table. 

Neil's the first one to take a swing, but he misses. Billy rebuttals with a swift punch that lands on Neil's jaw. He stumbles back, but catches himself quickly. The adrenaline is running through Billy's veins like alcohol after a long night and everything else feels like it may as well not exist- it's just him and Neil here and _now_. 

Neil goes for another swing, finally landing one and splitting Billy's lip open at the same time. Blood begins to pool in the new wound as he recuperates and slams Neil into the wall behind him roughly. Neil quickly gets out of Billy's grasp, whipping him around and shoving him into the wall harshly. 

"Get the fuck out," he spits, gripping the edges of Billy's shirt tightly in his fists. 

______________

It's some time around 6 o'clock when Steve Harrington finally wakes up Christmas Day. His head is throbbing and he feels lightheaded as he shifts around in bed. He blinks a few times and looks around the room- it's almost dark out by now, but the last glimpses of light show off the fresh sheet of snow lining the Harrington's backyard. Steve sits up, rolling his shoulders and adjusting the blue downy blanket that's been mostly pushed away. He's still clad in the familiar denim jacket that is Billy Hargrove's from the night before and for the first time in a long time he feels _hungry_. He can't remember the last time he actually ate and it's been a few _days_ since he's had a decent hit so he's feeling more uptight than he normally would. 

Steve pushes himself out of bed on wobbly, noodle-y legs and ushers himself into the bathroom to get a good look at yesterday's damage. He's got a black eye from the punch Charley threw and there's a gash on the back of his head from when he was thrown against the wall, but worst of all is the purplish-black finger prints wrapped around his throat, sneaking up like vines of ivy up to his jaw. The marks from when he was pinned against the wall, being demeaned and scolded like a child caught stealing candy from the corner store, but so much worse. The feeling of Charley gripping him tightly, spitting threats and curses into his face is one he can't unsee. His fingers trace over the bruises gingerly, brushing them lightly with his finger tips as tears well in his eyes because how the _fuck_ had he let this go so _far_? Pounding on the front door startles him out of his daze and he quickly brings a soft denim sleeve of Billy's jacket up to wipe at his eyes before he walks down the stairs. He opens the door slowly, eyes widening at the sight in front of him. 

The last person he had expected to see the evening of Christmas Day was Billy Hargrove and that's exactly what he got. His lip is split and his knuckles are bloody, but overall he seems okay he's even- he's _smiling_?

"You owe me, Harrington."


End file.
